[There's something to be noted for a fact, about the way the influence of wills between the Stellaron and its container seems to be somehow inverting, in these insecure matters of the heart. The way Caelus's pulse only seems to settle under the guide of the Stellaron's steady thrum; the way his nerves somewhat ease into a boldness that seems almost drawn from another source, liquid courage of a different kind. At this proximity Luocha can hear it easily, that peculiar shift in frequency and the thrall it seems to be exerting upon this host, but...
In this moment, for once, these are notes to be reviewed at a later time. Because even Luocha's own considerable command of focus is not, entirely enough, to resist the distraction of those hands that tug--of the voice that reaches his ear, weighed heavy with desire as those requests are spoken. So plainly, so plaintively. Why, look at him, already flushing just bringing these thoughts to surface. Cute indeed.
It's not surprising, at least, not this particular thing. Not when it had been fairly obvious from the moment they'd clasped hands back in the lobby, if not perhaps in little cues and lingering glances even before that. Luocha is well aware of the physical appeal he can carry, yet another tool among many to be utilized towards his own ends; Caelus is hardly the first to express something like this to him, and he's quite unlikely to be the last. ...But there's novelty in the circumstances, in this particular case. And he's being so very good, answering the question so promptly, even taking a little initiative for himself--
Yes, it'd be easy enough for Luocha to simply decline to move. But there's no resistance at all, against the gentle pull of Caelus's hands; Luocha settles over the young man's lap slowly but easily, almost languidly, their torsos pressing close, straddling over his thighs such that his weight quite promptly pins Caelus in place, eases him subtly but firmly against the back of the armchair. --Indeed, it'd be a bad time for him to be having any misgivings about the position. Caelus won't be moving elsewhere anytime particularly soon like this, until Luocha should see fit to free him. ...It's fairly easy to pass himself off as a mildly hapless and vulnerable healer in combat, yes, with a face like this. But the illusion likely doesn't hold up half as well on occasions like this one--where there's a subtle impression of core strength that keeps the merchant's posture fairly prim and balanced even despite this position, and permits only the most gentle roll of pressure against Caelus's pelvis as he settles--doubtless just enough, and just too little, to be intentionally frustrating.
The contrast in their body languages couldn't be more clear like this, eagerness now shored up against a near immaculate-seeming sort of composure. Luocha's own complexion doesn't yet flush; his breathing remains slow and even. Cues will have to be taken from more subtle tells, should Caelus be seeking them: the edge that curves ever so slightly upon his smile, the sharpening intent that flickers behind that veneer of patience in his half-lidded gaze. Luocha sighs, softly, in equal parts at the contact and the tone at his ear. The hand on Caelus's chest remains there, between them...and the pressure of his palm increases just slightly, as a flare of that healing flickers anew, seeps into those residual aches of earlier.]
Too much, you think so? My, but to me, that hardly sounds like too much at all. ...Take anything you'd like. It'll help you feel better.
[Isn't that why Caelus came in here in the first place?
The permission is a low murmur; there's just a bit of a shift, somewhere in there, from the warm affect Luocha normally favors. A rather interesting contrast, perhaps, between the illusion of choice still offered by the words...and the darker note of demand folded underneath the tone. Just the slightest bit of a hint, of the truth just below the honeyed surface. Luocha's other hand reaches to trace up the column of Caelus's throat, raise his head--tip his chin, with a gloved fingertip. The better to lean close, and press a kiss to his lips--sweetly, infuriatingly chaste.]
grips your shoulder....make that both our search histories tbf,
In this moment, for once, these are notes to be reviewed at a later time. Because even Luocha's own considerable command of focus is not, entirely enough, to resist the distraction of those hands that tug--of the voice that reaches his ear, weighed heavy with desire as those requests are spoken. So plainly, so plaintively. Why, look at him, already flushing just bringing these thoughts to surface. Cute indeed.
It's not surprising, at least, not this particular thing. Not when it had been fairly obvious from the moment they'd clasped hands back in the lobby, if not perhaps in little cues and lingering glances even before that. Luocha is well aware of the physical appeal he can carry, yet another tool among many to be utilized towards his own ends; Caelus is hardly the first to express something like this to him, and he's quite unlikely to be the last. ...But there's novelty in the circumstances, in this particular case. And he's being so very good, answering the question so promptly, even taking a little initiative for himself--
Yes, it'd be easy enough for Luocha to simply decline to move. But there's no resistance at all, against the gentle pull of Caelus's hands; Luocha settles over the young man's lap slowly but easily, almost languidly, their torsos pressing close, straddling over his thighs such that his weight quite promptly pins Caelus in place, eases him subtly but firmly against the back of the armchair. --Indeed, it'd be a bad time for him to be having any misgivings about the position. Caelus won't be moving elsewhere anytime particularly soon like this, until Luocha should see fit to free him. ...It's fairly easy to pass himself off as a mildly hapless and vulnerable healer in combat, yes, with a face like this. But the illusion likely doesn't hold up half as well on occasions like this one--where there's a subtle impression of core strength that keeps the merchant's posture fairly prim and balanced even despite this position, and permits only the most gentle roll of pressure against Caelus's pelvis as he settles--doubtless just enough, and just too little, to be intentionally frustrating.
The contrast in their body languages couldn't be more clear like this, eagerness now shored up against a near immaculate-seeming sort of composure. Luocha's own complexion doesn't yet flush; his breathing remains slow and even. Cues will have to be taken from more subtle tells, should Caelus be seeking them: the edge that curves ever so slightly upon his smile, the sharpening intent that flickers behind that veneer of patience in his half-lidded gaze. Luocha sighs, softly, in equal parts at the contact and the tone at his ear. The hand on Caelus's chest remains there, between them...and the pressure of his palm increases just slightly, as a flare of that healing flickers anew, seeps into those residual aches of earlier.]
Too much, you think so? My, but to me, that hardly sounds like too much at all. ...Take anything you'd like. It'll help you feel better.
[Isn't that why Caelus came in here in the first place?
The permission is a low murmur; there's just a bit of a shift, somewhere in there, from the warm affect Luocha normally favors. A rather interesting contrast, perhaps, between the illusion of choice still offered by the words...and the darker note of demand folded underneath the tone. Just the slightest bit of a hint, of the truth just below the honeyed surface. Luocha's other hand reaches to trace up the column of Caelus's throat, raise his head--tip his chin, with a gloved fingertip. The better to lean close, and press a kiss to his lips--sweetly, infuriatingly chaste.]